


In Ten Years' Time

by saisei



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enjo Kosai, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, background Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-09-21 08:44:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9540272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/pseuds/saisei
Summary: Kenma and Tooru don't have time for relationships, but their best friends think otherwise. When they meet at Shouyou's wedding party, the solution to their mutual problem seems obvious.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will be updated weekly.

Kenma's half relieved and half anxious when he's told there are assigned seats at Shouyou's post-wedding party. He doesn't want the stress of having to choose who to sit with – asking if a seat was taken, or mistaking the identity of people he only vaguely remembers from high school. Shouyou's sister tells him he's at table 4, in the dining hall's back corner, between the main entrance and the side door that leads out to the toilets. The location is good, and he quickly swaps the namecard at his assigned seat with that of the person seated against the back wall. He puts his bag on the chair and hangs his jacket on the back to make the claim official; he doesn't think anyone noticed the sleight of hand. Shouyou will forgive him.

Speaking of whom... It's too early to sit down, which means people are mingling. He needs to find Shouyou and offer belated congratulations. He spots the telltale shock of hair across the room, and wends his way there. He worries that someone will recognize and waylay him – he hasn't changed that much in the past decade, besides toning down his hair color. If he looked up, he'd probably spot Karasuno players all over, so he doesn't. He finds Shouyou anyway.

Spotting him, Shouyou breaks into a wide grin and interrupts his own conversation. "Kenma!" He looks behind and up, raising an eyebrow at Kageyama.

"Hello," Kageyama says on cue. He flinches a bit, but Kenma knows him well enough to recognize it for a smile, and offers one in return.

"Congratulations again," Kenma says. Hinata had managed not to tell everyone beforehand that he and Kageyama were going to legally tie the knot, now that that was possible, but after the paperwork was done the information – somehow – leaked to his circle of friends. He's been saying for the past year that he should get everyone together and make an official announcement. So here they are.

"Oh hey, do you remember..." Shouyou starts, and Kenma ducks his head to Daichi and Asahi – everyone's on first-name basis, apparently – as he's introduced in turn as _Nekoma's setter_.

"I work in security," he corrects, embarrassed, and before he knows what's happening they're all trading business cards while Shouyou wails (quietly; Kageyama's restraining him) that this is _his_ party and there will be no networking.

The conversation returns to a stream of catching-up after that, and Kenma's glad for the opportunity to just listen in. Two of the tiny kids running around are Daichi's; Shouyou insists it's not too early to start them on volleyball. Asahi works in landscaping, and achieved local fame for working on a hundred-year-old farmhouse for the TV show Before/After. Shouyou promises to send Kenma a copy of the video, and Asahi – with height and build to rival Kageyama, long hair, and a cool goatee – looks like he wants to shrink with mortification.

Kenma wouldn't mind sitting at a table with Asahi, he thinks, but when Natsu sidles up to announce that everyone's here who'll be on time, Asahi ambles off in the opposite direction. Restaurant staff start bringing around drinks for the toast, and Kenma scurries back to his seat in the corner to find the table occupied by five strangers.

They make swift introductions while pouring each other beer. The woman to his left relaxes when Kenma fills her glass; he hates the idea that men should be waited on, just for being male. The custom must annoy her even more. Kenma turns back to find the man at his right waiting to pour for him, and for a moment all the social niceties feel excruciating.

But at least he's not Kageyama, who has to give a short speech, which he mostly reads off his phone. He had to talk to the media a lot after the 2020 Olympics and Japan's first volleyball medal in decades, but Kenma supposes it's easier to talk about plays and teamwork than to announce that you're gay, and married, and in love, all of that. He's positive he could never do it.

He nearly misses his cue to raise his glass, but no one cares, really. He clinks it against the others', says _kampai_ , and takes a sip. He doesn't like beer. He hopes that having women at the table means they'll order bottles of oolong tea, and he can switch to that.

"We haven't met, have we," the man next to him – Tooru – says, and smiles like he thinks Kenma's fascinating.

Kenma mutters awkwardly that he knows the nuptial couple from high school volleyball, and Tooru laughs.

"Sucked in by the Hinata charisma, right? He never forgets anyone, and somehow he manages to – " Tooru waves his fingers in the air as if trying to catch the intangible – "genuinely care about everyone. His team and mine were rivals," he adds. "Though I know Tobio-kun from junior high."

"You hated him," one of the women says with a laugh, and Tooru turns his flirtation on her, as if it's as natural as breathing.

Further conversation brings up that no one at their table is in a relationship, which Kenma suspects is what they had in common to whoever made the seating assignments. The third man and one of the women are Shouyou's colleagues, who seem star-struck by the Olympic athletes in the room, and the other two women are Kageyama's friends from university, who tell funny but fond stories. In a discussion of the new marriage laws, it comes out that no one is straight; Kenma worries at first that maybe their seats were decided with matchmaking in mind, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

Kenma listens, asking questions every now and then. He's glad Tooru's so bright; that means he can stay in the shade. Tooru, he thinks, knows what Kenma's doing, and finds it amusing. Every now and then he says something about himself with false modesty – mentioning his upcoming postdoc fellowship in Canada, or research he contributed to being published. Kenma had given him the line about working in security and knows Tooru made the same assumptions everyone else did: that he was a guard, or installed video cameras, or something.

So Kenma enjoys subtly frustrating Tooru's expectations. He's no astronomer himself, but he's not _stupid_. He can ask relevant questions, and he has a good idea of how much work Tooru must have poured into his studies. He also feels a thrill whenever he deflects Tooru's attempts to figure him out. Kuro, if he were here, would accuse Kenma of trolling. Or egg him on. Probably the latter.

Somehow, phones end up on the table – no one can resist taking pictures, even though they've all sworn to Shouyou not to post anything publicly – and between the fish and the savory pudding courses, Tooru asks Kenma for his contact information.

Kenma gets up after that, taking a mostly-full bottle of beer and going off to do his duty, filling glasses for people he knows at the other tables, amused to find that Kageyama's got Shouyou drinking tea.

"I'd rather deal with the small bladder than vomiting," Kageyama explains. His cheeks are red, but he's got a bottle of mineral water himself, so he's probably self-conscious and not drunk. And happy, Kenma thinks. They both look really happy.

They chat until the next well-wishers descend on the head table and Kenma seizes the chance to slip away.

Only Tooru and one woman – Kana, Kenma reminds himself – are left sitting at the table. The rest have dispersed on their own rounds of the room, or to the restrooms. Kana's texting furiously with a line between her eyebrows, and Tooru shoots Kenma a significant glance before conspicuously sending a text of his own, phone flat on the table next to his glass.

A moment later, Kenma's phone vibrates in his pocket. Tooru is ridiculous, but Kenma reads the message anyway.

> _I know this is presumptuous of me. You can laugh later if you want. I didn't bring my cane, and I don't think I can leave without help. I don't want to worry the newlyweds. Can I pretend to be drunk and lean on you, just as far as the front door?_

Kenma's not the sort of person people are ever _presumptuous_ with, and he finds himself holding back a smile as he reads. Tooru leans his elbow on the table and puts his chin on his fist, looking out over the banquet room like a fond uncle. Kenma wonders what's wrong with his legs, and if he's in pain right now.

 _Okay_ , Kenma types. _I was going to go soon anyway._

Tooru's gaze dips as the message arrives, and then shoots Kenma an apologetic half-smile. Kenma tilts his head at the side door. It's closest, just a few paces away, and they won't have to walk past anyone to get there. Tooru nods, and pushes his chair back.

Kenma's got a technique for walking tall drunk friends home. It's not hard to get Tooru's arm around his shoulders and take his weight, holding his own center of gravity lower and using his hip to steer. Tooru rests his cheek on Kenma's head and swears very softly under his breath as they slip out into the corridor beyond.

There's a bench across from the restrooms, but Tooru refuses to sit.

"What if I couldn't get up again?" he says. Not waiting for an answer, he pulls his phone out from his pocket and rings for a cab. This close to the station, he's told to just wait outside; it won't be more than a few minutes.

Kenma gets them through the restaurant proper without dropping Tooru on anyone's table, down the three steps to the sidewalk, and then – despite his natural reticence – has to ask:

"Are you taking the cab home?"

Tooru huffs out a laugh. "Sadly, I think it would be frowned on to blow all my grant money on cabfare from Sendai. Though you never know... Don't worry. I'll be fine on the train. I just didn't want Tobio-chan to see me fall on my ass."

"I have an extra bed," Kenma says, trying to sound matter-of-fact. Or at least not reluctant. "My hotel's walking distance – for me – and there's an elevator."

Tooru sighs. He's still leaning heavily, and while it might be nearly Golden Week, the air is chilly, with a brisk wind that cuts through jackets and slips up trouser legs.

"How many trains do you need to take?" Kenma asks, playing dirty. "How many staircases up to the platforms?" He'd memorized the station map when he arrived, a nervous habit acquired from his line of work. Just getting to the elevators here will mean a long walk, and he knows not all local stations even have elevators or escalators.

"Your seduction technique needs work," Tooru announces primly, but the cab comes and he tugs Kenma in with him, nudging him to give the hotel address.

Kenma fires off a quick text to Shouyou, telling him that he's hooking up with Tooru, who promised to show him a good time, but he'll be at Shouyou's place tomorrow for lunch like they agreed, no problem.

"You should turn your phone off," Kenma warns Tooru, switching to silent mode himself.

By the time they stagger into Kenma's room, they've got dozens of messages between them. Kenma's favorite is Hinata's picture of Kageyama's reaction face: jaw dropped, eyes wide, stunned.

Tooru gives Kenma an actual hug, his expression bubbly with delight. He politely ignores that Kenma has no idea how to respond.

"I hate pity," he says. "This is so much better. I'm not the idiot who crippled himself playing volleyball, I've got moves. I scored the bridegroom's sweet, innocent childhood friend!"

Kenma blinks. "Shouyou knows I'm nothing like that. Do you need a toothbrush?"

"Let me bask," Tooru implores; but after a dramatic moment, he lets Kenma go, looking sheepish. "I could really use the toilet, though."

Kenma points at the door. Tooru is pretty good at hopping around, once he doesn't need to look dignified for an audience.

Kenma hadn't packed pajamas and it's a cheap hotel – there aren't any yukata for guests in the closet. Tooru says _whatever_ and strips down to his underwear, hanging his suit and dress shirt up and twitching out every wrinkle meticulously. He tries to be subtle about removing his knee brace, but all the velcro makes that impossible. Kenma just folds his clothes back into his suitcase as fast as he can before diving under the covers; his boxer briefs feel very revealing.

They're in bed by half past ten. Kenma messes about with his phone for a bit, debating between telling Kuro how he's messing with the gossip mill, or letting him find out naturally, which will be funnier. Kuro's always hopeful that Kenma will one day develop a love life. So it'll be good for him to think that Kenma's having sex with a hot former setter.

Tooru's sound asleep well before eleven, and Kenma sets his alarm and closes his eyes.

The morning's awkwardness is alleviated by hilarity. Hinata calls the room phone while Kenma's getting breakfast from the convenience store downstairs, and when he comes back Tooru's apparently driven Shouyou to hysterics.

"Oh, he just got out of the shower," Tooru lies cheerfully. "I'll put him on."

"Is he decent?" Shouyou squawks, loud enough for Kenma to hear. Kenma puts the shopping bag down on his bed and pulls his t-shirt off.

"Fuck!" Tooru's eyes go wide. "Put your clothes on, you _maniac_."

Kenma takes the handset from Tooru's slack grip. He assures Shouyou that he's fine, Tooru's fine, no one was drunk, they're two consenting adults, and he has no idea if he's done anything Shouyou wouldn't do. "Please don't tell me about your sex life," he adds. "I'm hanging up now."

He wants a shower and his canned coffee, so he nods at Tooru – now doubled over on the bed and wheezing with laughter – and takes his coffee and his shirt into the tiny bathroom, shutting the door.

Tooru's brother comes to pick him up at nine, with crutches and an exasperated expression. Check-out's at ten, but the room feels too empty now, so Kenma hits the street with his wheeled suitcase in tow. He gets a sudden flood of messages from Kuro while he's wandering, and finds a little park to sit in while Kuro's exhausting every permeation of _what the hell_ and _no seriously, are you okay?_ He doesn't know who gossiped, but...

Kenma has a knee-jerk loathing for being forced into any kind of big brother-little brother dynamic. Kuro _knows_ this, or he ought to.

While Kenma's trying to compose a reply that doesn't let his irritation show too much, another message lights his screen.

> _Ken-chan! Thank you for your hospitality and your kindness. I expected last night to rate high on the disaster/mortification scale, and instead I got a striptease with my cheap breakfast pastry. No wait, I mean 'friendship' not 'striptease' – so easy to get those confused!_
> 
> _If I may be forward – and really, I know you have cats on your underpants and you've seen my scars, there's no going_ back _, now is there? – I honestly wouldn't mind if you didn't correct the rumors going around. I'm far too busy for a relationship, but my friends have cycled through well-meaning concern to worry to suggesting dating sites. Of course, if you're uncomfortable, I'll be the first to explain to Chibi-chan! (Or if you have a boyfriend, I'll explain to_ him _– from a safe distance, mention of pastry and striptease optional.)_
> 
> _But_ if you want _, we can just let the rumors stand. You seem like you'd be good at smiling enigmatically. I myself am good at just about everything, of course! You can ask me for favors in return, it could be fun. Yours in potential duplicity, Oikawa Tooru_

The decision is a no-brainer. Pretending to date Tooru will harm no one, save both of them from overly-attentive friends, and probably be hilarious.

 _Okay,_ Kenma writes back. He wonders if there are downloadable contract templates for this kind of thing. _You have to call me Kenma. I'd never go out with someone who didn't. I don't tolerate nicknames, pet names, or diminutives. I'll call you Tooru. We can decide in 6 months if we want to continue._

He then sends two words to Kuro – _I'm fine_ – and continues on to the station.

Two hours later, he's helping Kageyama get the barbecue lit when his phone gets hit by so many messages it nearly vibrates off the table Shouyou and his dad have set up in the yard. Tooru's sent him twenty-five grinning selfies, with instructions to choose his favorite! and use it on his lockscreen!

Kageyama gags, and Kenma hands his phone over to Shouyou's sister to pick one for him. He ends up with a soft-focus, toothpaste-commercial grin and windswept hair as Tooru's contact photo. His lock screen's been Cloud Strife for over a decade; Tooru's going to have to impress him seriously to earn the honor of replacing him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, looks like I need to add another chapter /o\ So now it's 2 of 4.

Tooru is weirdly committed to working on their fake relationship: he says he needs to provide updates to his many fans, but after a few weeks Kenma's figured out that the only one he really cares about is Iwaizumi. He chats with Kenma once a week, on Sundays. Just keeping in touch, really. He asks questions, talks about his work, and sends pictures of himself with various theorems and large pieces of machinery. 

Before posting boyfriend updates to Facebook or Twitter, Tooru always has Kenma okay the content; Kenma does the same, even though he hardly posts anything. Mostly he uses Tooru to fill uncomfortable gaps in conversations with vague comments – usually all he has to say is his boyfriend's tall and cute and they hang out on the weekends, and people from work stop trying to introduce him to potential partners. (His friends from high school are terrible, though, because they _know who Oikawa Tooru is_ , and keep sending links to old interviews on YouTube, as if they think Kenma landed a celebrity or something. He complains about this to Tooru, who offers to sign autographs. Tooru tweets about _our first fight ;_;_ the next day.)

A month after the wedding party, Tooru heads off to Canada for four months of research. He talks about what a great opportunity it is with false modesty that Kenma calls him out on (the more he learns about Tooru, the more he sees the energy he dedicates to making difficult things seem effortless). Tooru's relentlessly upbeat and chipper in all his social media updates, but to Kenma he admits to being exhausted most of the time, frustrated by his English proficiency, and worried that he won't get the data he needs even after trying so hard. He doesn't complain about feeling lonely – he seems to get along well with the researchers he's working with – but about five weeks in he confesses that he's been talking to Kenma more than to his family or Iwaizumi.

_I've been told I'm clingy,_ he writes airily. _So I'm practicing ~letting go~ and ~giving people space~._ The last phrase is in English, and he accompanies the words with a photo of brilliant stars.

Kenma is getting a taste of what it's like when Tooru pours his drive into a relationship. He doesn't think it's intolerable, but then, he hasn't known him for twenty-eight years. Maybe the intensity gets old. Still...

_That must have hurt,_ he sends back, deliberately ignoring the space pun. _To be told that._ Over the years his friendship with Kuro has been called too dependent lots of times, but never _by_ Kuro. Kenma'd hate it if he said something like that.

The reply is a verbal shrug: _Maa na._ He probably made Tooru uncomfortable, saying that, because he changes the subject in the next sentence, asking where Kenma is now.

He's figured out that Kenma's not a security guard subsisting on minimum wage, even though he does still live with his parents. Kenma's job requires being on-site for a week or so every month, so renting an apartment would be a waste. Last month he was in Nagasaki; next month he'll be in Tsu. Right now he's lying in bed in a Tennoji business hotel room; Tooru's having his afternoon coffee break, but it's already Monday morning in Japan. Kenma has to meet with the client and his team at eight, and he's probably still going to be there twelve hours later.

Kenma bitches about this to Tooru, who commiserates about crappy rooms (he's stuck in temporary faculty housing with five other foreign researchers) and long hours.

_So what even do you_ do? Tooru asks, for like the tenth time. _This time with less evasiveness._

Kenma links him to the company website.

A minute later, when there's no reply, he starts to feel a little guilty.

> _Mathematical models for crowd and event risk analysis. Predicting how people in crowds interact with spaces, normally and under stress. Mitigating and preventing problems, like riots or crushing. I'm good at predicting how people think and move – after a certain density, you need to apply the laws of fluid dynamics to crowds, so prediction is a challenge. Right now I'm on teams for disaster evacuation planning, a stadium redesign, and a four-day music festival. I stare at a computer screen a lot, but sometimes hardhats are required._

Kenma feels slightly queasy letting Tooru know that much. He's never mentioned that he went to university, what he studied, or what degrees he has. He worries when people know what he's interested in.

Tooru's answer comes immediately. _Very cool. How did you get into that?_

Kenma finds himself telling the story – supportive university professor, internship, traumatic job interview – with a sense of amazement at himself. Tooru has his own way of being good at people, he thinks. Kenma finds it hard enough to talk to friends, much less someone he only met once under embarrassing circumstances, but somehow Tooru makes it easy.

He wonders, maybe a few months late, if he's friends with Tooru.

Kuro's imagination stretches even further than that.

Kuro has his own apartment, and by default they always hang out there. The benefits – privacy, unhealthy snacks – are usually enough to balance out the detriments – Kuro's ridiculous neatness, mostly. But unlike Kenma's parents, Kuro knows he's gay, and since the Tooru thing started, conversations with him have gained an awkward dimension.

"So," he says when Kenma's dropped by a few weeks after the Tsu trip. They're sprawled on the sofa, half-mesmerized by the sound of rain beating down on the world around them, game controllers tossed on the coffee table and the TV turned off. Kuro had mentioned dinner, but neither one of them's hungry enough to move. "I guess I owe you an apology."

"Sure," Kenma agrees. "Why?"

Kuro flicks him in the shoulder. "You and Oikawa. You really like him, don't you?" Another flick. "Like, love maybe."

Kenma goes stiff as a hot flush of shock goes through him. He's sure he's blushing; he forgets to breathe for a moment.

Kuro, to his credit, just looks concerned. It's one of his big-brotherly expressions, but Kenma can forgive that. Laughter or some knowing smirk would strain even their friendship, he thinks distantly.

"Why would you say that."

Kuro takes a breath and lets it out, cautiously. "You only met that one time. No matter how good the sex was, keeping the interest alive when you're apart is hard. But you guys talk all the time. He probably knows stuff about you that I don't – I'd be jealous if I wasn't happy for you. You must have a hundred pictures of him on your phone."

"He keeps sending them," Kenma says defensively. "But." He tucks his chin down to frown at his knees. "I don't want to love someone who doesn't love me back."

"Yeah," Kuro says after a moment. "That sucks. You know you're going to have to ask him how he feels."

"I'm starving," Kenma says, and pushes up to his feet, heading for the kitchen. "Do you have food?"

"No," Kuro drawls, pulling his feet up onto the seat Kenma vacated and stretching, "the refrigerator is purely decorative." He doesn't get up or offer to make anything, which is annoying. "Wash your hands before you touch anything."

He lets Kenma get away with ending the conversation, though. Ten years ago, when Kuro graduated from Nekoma, Kenma had bared his heart and asked Kuro to be his boyfriend – the most mortifying experience of his life to date. Kuro said no. Something about confusing friendship for real love and Kenma being too young and how it would be a mistake, even though he was flattered to be asked, really. Kenma had nodded, gone home and cried, and then pretended it never happened so hard that sometimes he almost believed.

Kuro's never breathed a word about it since; maybe he's convinced himself that Kenma's confession was just a one-time glitch in his programming. Kenma never told him that day was the culmination of a years-long crush, a pressure that built up until it needed release, no matter how catastrophically.

The only person Kenma's ever told is Tooru. He didn't even mean to, but they were comparing their childhood best friends for some reason (possibly related to Kenma's stubborn fondness for Cloud Strife). Tooru told him stories about Iwa-chan that made them sound like a comedy duo on TV: Tooru the cute and zany half, Iwaizumi the one who exploded with frustrated anger. Kenma laughed, reading about their misadventures, even though he found himself usually sympathizing with Iwaizumi. 

_Tell me about your Kuro-chan,_ Tooru asked, and Kenma typed the whole confession story out, without even really thinking about it.

_He sounds like an asshole,_ Tooru sent back immediately. _I'll try and like him for your sake, of course, but I just want to give tiny high school you a hug and also challenge him to a duel or something for your honor. Are you over your heartbreak? Is he still the love of your life?_

_Utter humiliation is a good way to get over a crush. F.Y.I._

_Well, that's just sad._ Tooru attached a picture of himself looking woeful on Kenma's behalf. Kenma saved it to the folder with all the other pictures. _Do you want to hear a SUPER-SECRET true story that is nearly as depressing? Pinky swear never to tell another living soul._

Kenma took a picture of his pinky and sent it as his answer.

_I have literally begged you for a picture for_ months _and this is what I get,_ the message started, and then rambled into a downward (yet hilarious) spiral which Tooru titled 'never try to have sex with your straight best friend'. It involved porn, sixteen-year-old hormone-fueled earnestness, and ridiculously fast and messy orgasms; and resulted, Tooru wrote ominously, in neither of them able to eat watermelon for _years_.

_Once and never again,_ Tooru said. _Now Iwa-chan's got a wife and a kid on the way. Life is SO WEIRD._

Kenma worried that asking if Tooru had been in love would be rude, but... he was curious.

_WHO KNOWS_ , Tooru sent back. _I probably could have fallen for him if sex hadn't been disastrous. We were just realizing how hard it was to keep up with junior high classmates who went to different schools, and there was no guarantee we'd go the the same university, so someday we might not see each other everyday. We might become strangers, and that was UNTHINKABLE! But dating him might have destroyed our friendship even faster. Que sera, sera._

Kenma didn't buy for a minute that Tooru believed _whatever will be, will be_. Tooru fought for things tooth and nail; he just liked to pretend they came to him effortlessly because of his natural awesomeness.

_But now I have you!_ Tooru had concluded, adding an emoticon with hearts for eyes, and signed off for the night.

Kenma can't help but feel, as he wipes his cleanly-washed hands off on his jeans and starts checking out Kuro's leftovers, as if he's left himself horribly vulnerable. Tooru's already started asking when and where they should meet up for their six-month fake-relationship evaluation, and Kenma just wants time to stop.

Maybe Tooru doesn't need to keep up the joke any more; maybe he wants a real relationship with someone he fell for in real life. Maybe he's been sleeping with other people all along – they don't talk about sex much, and certainly don't pry into each others' sex lives. What if Kenma says he wants to continue, but Tooru wants to quit? That would be horrible. So maybe Kenma should offer to end it. But what if Tooru says _sure_ , and then stops texting? What if the comfortable habit Kenma has fallen into becomes something that hurts?

He closes the refrigerator door, hands empty. He's not even fake-hungry anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm going to murder an architect_ , Kenma sends, his fingers tense from the effort it takes not to shake. He's hiding in the stairwell after the morning's meeting (and skipping lunch with the client), and was so surprised his phone actually got a signal that he didn't think before messaging.

_k_ , Tooru replies, nearly instantly. _y?_

_Because I HATE him_. Only once he says that does he think about the time difference. Crap. Kenma's screwing everything up today. _Sorry I woke you up. Never mind._

_Noooooo, tell me all about your nemesis._ Tooru attaches a stupid emoticon, with wide round eyes.

Kenma presses his back harder against the wall and pulls his knees up under his chin. _He's going to kill people._ His hands are freezing; he's losing the battle to stay in control. _People will die for his fucking aesthetics_.

_He didn't listen to you._

_That's not the point_. Kenma finds himself almost panting with frustration. His throat burns like he's been swallowing down tears. _I don't lie. He listened and then he ignored every recommendation because that what he wanted was more important._

_So you weren't prepared._ Kenma stares at the words, feeling disbelief (at himself, because what did he expect) and a relieving burn of anger. A moment later, another message arrives. _You'll beat him at the rematch. Which is when?_

Kenma sighs. _In about an hour._

_Then you need to get off the phone._ Tooru sends a tiny chicken saying, "Fight!" _You know his weaknesses, I'm sure you were paying attention. So this is about your own._

Kenma doesn't doubt that if he asks right now, Tooru will give him a list of what he considers Kenma's weaknesses. He also knows it's nothing personal; Kenma _does_ need to win this fight, because if there's a fire or an earthquake or any other reason to evacuate the renovated stadium, he won't be able to look at the death toll and feel anything but guilt and responsibility. After all, _they asked him_ for his expertise. Not to stare silently down at the table, frozen at being attacked.

_I'm not that fond of architects, either,_ Tooru says after a while; Kenma probably waited too long to reply, and he's worried he's offended. _Four-word poem: wheelchair ramp, no handrails._

Kenma wonders if it was Tooru in the wheelchair, or someone he knew, or just something he saw and thought was a disastrous idea. He doesn't have time to ask, though; not if he's going to crush the architect's arguments, convince everyone he's wrong, and possibly leave _him_ on the verge of tears in the back stairwell. _I need to go._ He feels so much better and doesn't know how to explain that, so he just adds, _Thank you_ and _Good night_ before ending the chat and sliding his phone into his pocket as he stands.

In general, Kenma's a fan of gamification; he's made it this far in life without motivation mostly because he's learned how to see difficulties as games. He hated being crammed into commuter trains; he now bikes to work and earns points towards leveling up on FinalCycle. Most of the chores he's reluctant about at work (reading and writing email, meetings) power his Habit Warrior character. But a major weakness of those apps is that because they're meant to encourage, there aren't important boss battles that can be lost; there's no _game over_ , because that would be demotivating.

For this battle, Kenma will have just one chance. He will _have to_ be strong and persuasive. He knows now that his enemy isn't moved by common sense; he can work with that. 

His visual presentation that afternoon is brutal; it makes their client – the architect's employer – need to scrub her eyes with a handkerchief, which earns him a pointed headshake from his boss, Hatano, for going too far. But after that she grills the architect herself, asking about crowd flow and contingency plans and liability. Kenma stands at the head of the table, looking down just enough that his hair cuts off his field of vision to the sides, and presses his fingertips to the edge of his laptop's keyboard. He's... not happy (he doesn't _like_ describing how and why people die in graphic detail), but he feels relieved, right down to his bones.

Hatano takes Kenma's team out to dinner afterward, to celebrate the acceptance of their proposal. Kin's going to have to spend time working with the architect – Kenma is so glad she volunteered, he promises to use his connections (i.e., Lev) to get discount Disneyland tickets for her kid's birthday – but Kenma's done with this project.

One of the things that makes Hatano a good manager is that he's an expert at both reading the atmosphere and knowing the best way to respond. After a round of congratulations that culminates in a toast (beer or oolong tea, whichever, because no one cares), he declares himself tired of shop talk and starts soliciting suggestions for his next family vacation. Tension drains away as the merits of winter versus summer and city versus countryside are debated.

Kenma occupies himself picking at his food (he's really not hungry, but he knows he has to keep up an appearance) and doesn't realize the topic's going around the table until Ueki nudges him.

"Sendai," he answers on automatic, in response to the question of where his last holiday was spent.

"Boo," Kin says with a pout. She's hitting the oolong tea hard and pretending to be drunk. "That's too close to home. What about where your boyfriend is?"

Kenma shrugs. "Toronto? He says it's nice."

"I still think you should have gone to visit him," Hatano says. Kenma hadn't planned on telling anyone at work he was gay, but Hatano's like one of those ships in the Arctic that breaks up ice in shipping lanes. His daughter's gay – _she gave me permission to brag_ , he says, proudly displaying her wedding picture on his desk – and he's made it clear that he'll stand up against any kind of discrimination. Kenma had felt self-conscious when he started mentioning Tooru this and Tooru that, but it was probably the most painless coming-out he's done so far. Hatano had asked if they were dating and if Kenma had a picture; Kenma nodded _yes_ to both questions, and Hatano had said he was happy for them. Because of his easy acceptance, everyone else in their department took Kenma's new boyfriend in stride.

The happy side-effect was that Kenma stopped getting invites to mixers for single people and questions about whether he's seeing anyone or what kind of person he'd consider a relationship with. The disadvantage is that now Tooru gets talked about.

"He's coming back in a couple of weeks anyway," Kenma says. He glances across the table at Kin, flashing her a smile. "To Sendai."

"Boo," she repeats, and leans across the table to refill his glass.

When Kenma gets home and checks his phone he finds a message from Tooru waiting, a very bland _You okay?_ ; Kenma knows he's got his back, he's aware it's still theoretically _possible_ that Kenma got his ass kicked by an architect.

Kenma shuts his bedroom door quietly – his parents are already asleep – and flops onto his bed, wriggling out of his pants and kicking them to the floor. He sends Tooru a V-for-victory emoticon and closes his eyes, just for a second.

The buzz of his phone on his chest jerks him up out of his daze, and he blinks at it blearily.

_I knew you could do it, Ken-chan! Do you want to talk about it?_

_NO,_ Kenma sends. He's already going to have trouble sleeping tonight. _Distract me._

_Do you want a souvenir from Canada?_ Tooru asks. These days, his default small talk is all about returning to Japan. Kenma knows he's homesick and lonely. Maybe he should have visited, after all. _Maple cookies, maple syrup, maple candy?_

_I didn't buy you anything in Osaka or anywhere,_ Kenma points out, and not a minute later he has a collection of messages, each with a single emoticon, progressing from blank-faced shock to bawling dramatic tears. _I thought the whole purpose of a fake relationship was to avoid that kind of hassle._

_I'm ordering discount cookies in bulk,_ Tooru says, obviously not as devastated as his emoticons suggest. _I have a spreadsheet of all the people I need to give bribes to. It's basically what I earn in month. Like buying gold! Only more edible._

Kenma eyes his phone, wanting to pry. He's still not sure who exactly Tooru works for, or who pays him – academia is confusing. On the one hand, Tooru can leave his job in Japan and work abroad, and doesn't seem worried about money; on the other, he's always carefully nursing his connections, writing papers, fantasizing about tenure, and living in terrible places.

Finally, he decides to just be honest. _I have no idea how much money you earn,_ he sends off, and then opens the app for his latest time-killer game. Distracted by trying to fit one set of random objects into another, he mostly manages to short-circuit his embarrassment for a couple of minutes before going back to see if Tooru's replied.

The number Tooru sent seems ridiculously low, and Kenma frowns.

_I get over twice that. Plus bonuses._ Only after the message is gone does he realize how rude that is. _Sorry. I just thought scientists eared a LOT._ And that sounds as if he thinks Tooru's not good enough. _Whatever. I don't care about money._

He curls into a ball on his bed in frustration and sends off a quick note to Kuro: _Help how do I stop putting my foot in my mouth and insulting Tooru unintentionally?_

_He has to be used to you by now,_ Kuro suggests, with an emoticon for a 100-yen shop – why? Who knows? Kenma refuses to fall for his trolling. _It's not like you've ever pretended to be someone you aren't. Keep flying that freak flag, he digs it._

_WHAT_ , Kenma sends, though they both know he's not really outraged. Neither he nor Kuro feel the need to sugarcoat the truth for others, and likewise they don't waste energy getting upset over straightforward criticism. There's no point in punching facts in the face, Kuro's always said; learn to live with them or change (most of the time, Kenma does the former while Kuro advocates the latter).

_Did you tell him?_ Kuro asks, typing in katakana for emphasis.

_No._

_You should._

_I hate you._

_Just tell him,_ Kuro says. _I have to go. Unlike some people, I sleep._

Kenma scowls and goes back to Tooru, who's been one-sidedly talking about money, and grants, and cookies, and worrying that his hair looks terrible with the color growing out.

_Is that why you haven't been sending me more pictures?_ Kenma asks. Talking to Kuro had riled him up, but somehow Tooru's chatter is soothing. _You saw my hair._

A confused emoticon. _Your hair is cute. Here, look._ A moment later, Kenma's staring at Tooru in his glasses, giving him a serious-professor stare, with his hair brushed straight so his bangs nearly cover one eye (he's always sidestepped the question of whether his hair's naturally wavy or permed; photographic evidence strongly suggests the latter). _Ghastly._

Kenma doesn't think that's the right word. Tooru looks older with black hair, his face appearing more angular and his eyes somber. Kenma doesn't know what to say, so he sticks the picture in an app, and sends it back as the cover image for a book titled "I Want to Believe (in aliens)!"

_I want a picture of youuuuuuuuu,_ Tooru whines, and Kenma grins to himself as he says good night and ends the chat.

*

He tries to give Tooru space after he returns to Japan. 

Kenma's not surprised not to hear from Tooru for a while after returning to Japan, aside from a short flurry of notes complaining about economy class legroom, jet lag, and all the work that he needs to do to prepare lessons for second term. Kenma wishes him luck greasing wheels with cookies, and then leaves him alone once Tooru starts talking about how busy he is reconnecting with all his friends. Kenma gets stuck with eight 12-hour days straight because Kin caught a nasty strain of norovirus from her kid and they both ended up hospitalized; he's super relieved to be uninfected (Kuro takes credit, for passing on his addiction to hand sanitizer), but all the additional deadlines (and the fucking meeting with the architect on day six) give him a headache.

The next time he hears from Tooru, he's in Tsu again, consulting with the city disaster-prevention department. Being in the same timezone is nice; Kenma can think of Tooru doing things at the same time – leaving work, going home (or in his case to a crappy business hotel), making dinner (or unwrapping convenience-store purchases), catching up on sleep.

Tooru thinks getting together for Kenma's birthday in the middle of the month would be perfect ( _two birds with one stone_ , he says brightly), but Kenma refuses. If things go wrong, in any of the thousand ways they could, he doesn't want to remember every time he fills in the date on a form. Plus, his parents always have a birthday dinner, with champagne now that he's old enough. His mother gets him a present every year, usually something smart to wear as part of her mission to eliminate hoodies from his wardrobe.

He finally agrees to go to Miyagi the weekend after his birthday. Tooru's still up to his ears with teaching, and now they both know Kenma earns a lot more money; it makes sense for him to buy the shinkansen ticket. Ten thousand yen and one hundred minutes, and he'll _know_.

Having a set date leaves Kenma keyed up and nervous. He makes sure he has the time off work, and goes red and speechless with embarrassment when Hatano tells him seriously to take all the time he needs. Kuro isn't sympathetic at all, not that Kenma expected him to be. After all, he's been ignoring Kuro's advice for months now.

He starts to feel oddly displaced whenever he comes home, as if maybe somehow things will have changed while he was gone. Maybe his parents replaced the television, or re-arranged the furniture, or messed with the stuff in his room.

Or maybe he's projecting his anxieties on the world, he tells himself as he opens the front door and walks in. His slippers are in the same place as always, and when he calls _I'm home_ his mother answers from the kitchen, _welcome back_ and then, _happy birthday_.

Kenma's room is on the right of the entranceway, so he drops his bag off, and then his mother tells him to come and open the package his grandmother sent. Under the brown paper from the delivery company there's a ribbon, then a layer of fancier paper, then a box, and inside that are individually-wrapped cakes. Kenma wonders darkly if she hasn't accidentally sent him a metaphor instead.

His mother seems impressed, though, as if the packaging reflects value, and takes down two of the good dessert plates. She pours tea while Kenma carries their cakes out to the table, and Kenma feels ill from all the exhausting complications that come from lying. He misses the simple relationship he had with his mother back in elementary school. She'd ask how school was and he'd say _normal_ , and how his friends were and he answered _fine_ (Kuro had been his only friend, and he'd always been pretty healthy), and then she'd ask him to help with supper. They'd set the dishes on the table just as Kenma's dad walked through the door, and Kenma would say _normal_ and _fine_ again.

He hadn't been especially happy – or unhappy – but the routine had been comforting. He'd felt that they loved him, despite how weird he was.

Today when his mother asks how work was, Kenma says, "Okay," and he sees her pause, for a moment, before setting the cups on the table and sitting down with him. She doesn't look _disappointed_ , but maybe wistful. As if she wishes he could talk to her. He clenches the fabric of his trousers in his hands, takes a breath for courage, and steps off the metaphorical edge. "Do you know that I'm gay?"

She doesn't look surprised, and says, "I wondered." She gets that wistful look again, but with a hint of a smile, as she picks at the wrapper on her cake. "We both did, your father and I," and she sounds the same way as when she's talking about work or the neighbors or her hiking club. "You always were more interested in games than girls, but we didn't know if you were shy, or if it was something else."

Kuro charms everyone's parents; he's friendly and funny and always willing to help out. Kenma is very aware that he is the opposite, no one's ideal child, and he says, "I'm sorry." His lips feel very dry as he studies at the table-top's familiar woodgrain.

" _Kenma_." His mother sounds shocked. " _Never_ apologize for being yourself." She stops worrying the cake and picks up her cup, turning it around and around in her hands. "All we want – all we have ever wanted – is for you to be happy."

"Oh." He knows he should say more, but there aren't any words. He feels like he's on stage in front of thousands of people, and his eyes prick with tears.

"Did you meet someone?" his mother asks, just like she's asking him what he wants for dinner.

Kenma starts shaking, and his mother gets up and comes over and wraps her arms around him. He's taller than she is standing, but like this he feels like a little kid as she rubs his back, his head tucked against her shoulder. "It's okay, it's okay," she says, and Kenma realizes he's crying, even though he doesn't know why. He's not sad, just... overwhelmed.

The storm blows over in a few minutes, and Kenma grabs the tissue box to blow his nose while his mother fetches him a warm wet towel from the kitchen to wash his face.

"Did you break up?" she asks. She sits down next to him with her hand warm on his arm, like she's trying to send comfort through touch.

Kenma's startled into saying _No_ before realizing how the confession-plus-tears must have looked. He digs his phone out and unlocks it, tapping into Tooru's folder and passing it over. "I like him," he starts, not sure how to have this conversation. "We met at Shouyou's wedding."

His mother looks up from the pictures she's scrolling through – there are an awful lot of them – and gives him a smile.

"He's handsome," she says, and Kenma warns her not to ever tell Tooru that. He's vain enough as it is. "Volleyball player, right?" Not a huge leap of deduction. "And he likes you back?"

"I hope so." He sounds unenthusiastic, almost resentful, which is wrong. "He's... funny, and kind, and weird, and dramatic." Kenma's never had to describe a boyfriend before; he thinks he's doing it wrong. "He's an astronomer, and he's tall." The words sound ridiculous to his own ears.

"I can see that," his mother says, smiling. She shows him the picture of Tooru towering over some of his Japanese colleagues, posed in front of some kind of instrument panel.

Kenma takes a breath and starts over. "We met at Shouyou's wedding, and we agreed to tell everyone we were dating. Even though we weren't. Aren't." He shrugs, uncomfortable. "It freaked out our friends, which was funny, and being single sucks. No one leaves you alone, because they all think they're helpful, instead of annoying. We're both too busy to make a real relationship work. But I started liking him. I wasn't supposed to do that."

His mother goes to timeline mode, and slides down through the months. She doesn't say what Kuro did about the pictures, but Kenma's sure she's thinking it.

"So when you go to Miyagi, you're not just going to see Shouyou."

"I really," Kenma starts, then stalls, and tries again. "I want to make him happy. I don't know if he wants that. I'm going to ask, even though I don't want to."

She nods. "If he says yes, he can come here and meet us."

That's a terrifying idea. It's always hard enough having just regular friends over – Shouyou or Lev or that one terrifying time with Bokuto. "I'd have to tell dad."

His mother sighs, the way she does when he forgets to pick up milk on the way home. "You'll say, 'Dad, can my boyfriend come over?' and bond over your calendar apps, trying to find a time when all four of us have a weekend free." She puts his phone down, with Tooru's squinty-eyed smile filling the screen. "Ken-chan, do you know what we were scared of, all those years? That you'd be bullied because you were different. That you'd stop going to school. That we'd never know you were bleeding on the inside until – "

"I never," Kenma interrupts, horrified. "I never wanted to kill myself." He knows people like him don't always survive the pressures of society; he's been lucky in his friends – in his family.

"You've always been strong," his mother agrees. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have... Not today." She gestures for him to wait a second, and ducks into her bedroom. Kenma takes a gulp of tea and holds his phone in his free hand, like a protective charm.

His mother returns with a Uniqlo bag that she presents to him with both hands.

"You didn't have to," Kenma says, like he does every year. "Thank you." He pulls out a fleece that's surprisingly soft, and can't help running his hand over the fabric.

"The color'll look good on you," his mother says. "When you go to meet your astronomer."

There are a lot of things Kenma wants to say about that, except he's exhausted now, so he settles on mumbling down at his birthday present, "Tooru. That's his name."

"Tooru," his mother repeats with a nod, and starts unwrapping her cake decisively.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally Kenma likes the sway of train cars (though definitely not the crowding), but with every kilometer the shinkansen travels away from Tokyo he feels queasier. His mother knows where he's going and why; he hasn't told any of his friends, including Kuro especially, though he did check that Shouyou will be around this weekend.

Just in case everything goes south spectacularly.

Tooru agreed to meet him downstairs in front of the stained glass window. It's the symbol of Sendai Station, standing two stories high at the far end of a plaza, so it's a natural meet-up point; luckily, Tooru's 186 cm (and some millimeters that he always adds, and Kenma blithely forgets on purpose). All Kenma has to do is look up over the crowd, and there he is, his artfully mussed (permed again, probably) and dyed hair haloed by glowing reds and blues, eyes downcast. Even though Kenma knows Tooru's just checking his phone, he thinks he looks like one of those famous old Buddhist statues, tranquil from contemplating enlightenment and mercy.

Kenma's stomach roils as he stands there, panicking about what to say, as far from spiritual peace as possible. 

He takes out his phone and sends a quick text saying hi, and watches Tooru get the message. He blinks a moment, and then looks up to scan the crowd. Even though Kenma's not tall or elegantly dressed, Tooru spots him easily and waves as he moves through the crowd; if Kenma's going to keep coming back to Miyagi, maybe he should grow out his own hair color, he thinks a little wildly, because he obviously stands out too much here.

As Tooru gets closer, Kenma stares, his memories and all the photos on his phone suddenly resolving into this real person, someone he knows. Tooru mentioned that he bought a mountain of new clothes in Canada, where his height wasn't unusual. He looks nice, though Kema can't tell if he dressed up specially, or if he's always fashionable (he suspects that's so). Tooru's limp doesn't seem as bad as before, though he does have his cane; maybe he doesn't think he can count on borrowing Kenma's shoulders, this time.

"Well, hello," Tooru says, smile widening. He looks at Kenma like he only has eyes for him, straight out of some stupid TV drama, and then he grabs Kenma's hand and holds it up like evidence. "I'd recognize this pinky finger anywhere."

"My train just got in," Kenma says, and then burns with embarrassment. Why is he spouting obvious facts? "I hope you didn't wait long."

"Each minute felt like an hour," Tooru says gravely. He tucks the hand holding Kenma's into the pocket of his coat and starts toward the exit. Kenma has no choice but to get towed along. He'd be annoyed if not for the way Tooru's thumb is rubbing over the side of his hand. "What do you want to do? We could grab a late lunch, or do something touristy and then have dinner, or I could show you the university, or we could go bowling. Or... whatever." He looks over (and down) at Kenma. "Are you hungry?"

"I don't know," Kenma says. The last thing he wants to do is eat. "Do you want to break up with me?"

No, actually, the absolute last thing he wanted to do was blurt that out, here, in the station.

He doesn't spontaneously combust, but he can feel himself flush all the way up to his ears. He pulls his hand back and grabs hold of his backpack straps and – 

"No?" Tooru says. He changes direction but keeps walking, herding Kenma to the wall and out of the flow of people. "Do you?"

Kenma cannot answer that question, and he can't read Tooru well enough to predict how he feels, so he takes refuge in unhappy petulance. "I asked first."

"Here's how I see it," Tooru says, leaning against the wall and tapping his fingers together. Affecting a casual pose and increasing personal space, Kenma thinks, to reduce tension; he's getting flashbacks to the dry lectures and PowerPoint presentations at professional security conferences. "We could have told everyone the joke or pretended to break up ages ago, and no one'd have cared. You didn't have to talk to me, either. Not once. Certainly not nearly every other day."

He catches his lip between his teeth, eyeing Kenma like he's making mental calculations. Kenma thinks about the multitude of pictures he has on his phone. One would have sufficed, for the sake of a joke.

"I was lonely," Tooru continues, and accompanies the confession with a shrug, as if that means nothing of import. "I liked... that you never suggested we should quit. That we were talking about each other to our best friends like it was real." Kenma's staring, desperate to get a solid read on the situation, and Tooru finally has to drop his gaze, looking somewhat childish himself. "If both of us want it, how exactly is this fake?"

Kenma is so much better at typing his words out than talking; his voice doesn't have a backspace or an easy way to demarcate sarcasm or humor for people who aren't used to him. He's even worse with physical affection, but he steps up now, the way you're not supposed to do when trying to deescalate a situation, and puts his arms around Tooru stiffly, pressing his forehead to his shoulder and hoping this is good enough.

The hug Tooru returns is immediate and warm; he's undeterred by the backpack or Kenma's awkwardness, and Kenma doesn't care about way the cane still tethered to Tooru's wrist bumps against his leg.

"I like you," Kenma says, the words muffled by Tooru's stylish Canadian coat. He tries to think of anything that makes a good follow-up to that terrifyingly bold confession, but can only come up with, "A lot."

Tooru's hand slides up to curl around the back of Kenma's neck; it feels as intimate as a kiss, here in the heart of the station, surrounded by hundreds of people who... probably don't care, Kenma reminds himself. "You think we could pull off dating for real?"

Taking a step back, Kenma stands straight and stares Tooru down. It doesn't matter that he's taller; Kenma's been practicing on Kuro for years, and he dredges up the courage to talk to Tooru like he's Kuro, using defensive sarcasm. "I'm literally trained in disaster planning. You believe in aliens. We should be able to figure it out."

Tooru's smile stretches wickedly. "Ken-chan, I have a _doctorate_. I speak at international conferences and have personally, almost, discovered three exoplanets."

Kenma doesn't blink, which he knows unnerves people. Yet another useful life skill he gained from playing video games. "No nicknames."

Tooru heaves a dramatic sigh and moves forward, linking his arm with Kenma's companionably and breaking eye contact. "Then don't plan me like a disaster. Take me out, like a good boyfriend would." They're heading outside again, and this time they make it through the doors to the wide expanse of walkway over the busy road below.

In the bright sunlight Tooru sniffs sharply, all of a sudden, and blinks up at the clouds. Kenma wonders if making each other cry is some kind of proof that they care, of if it just means that they're stupidly bad at relationships. Knowing himself, he guesses the latter.

"Sorry," Tooru says, noticing Kenma looking and waving off his concern. "Contacts."

 _Liar_ , Kenma thinks. "Karasuno beat my team in Nationals," Kenma reminds him, handing over a packet of pocket tissues. The advertisement on the back is for a sex club in Ikebukuro, with a busty cartoon girl mascot. "Don't worry, I've seen all my friends cry."

"Such a good thing we never played each other," Tooru says, looking down to smirk at the ad and then having to blot his eyes quickly. "Imagine how boring my life would be if I had to nurse a grudge against you."

"You _like_ your petty grudges." Kenma's glad that Shouou and Kageyama find Tooru's residual bitterness from junior high hilarious; it's childish, but in a way it's become an expression of fondness. When Tooru complains about _Tobio-chan_ or backhand-compliments him as _my kohai_ , Kenma wonders if he knows how like a grumpy grandfather he sounds.

"I have enough grudges," Tooru says airily, shoving the tissues into his pocket. "But I've never had a boyfriend. That makes you special."

Kenma has no use for compliments; he looks up sidelong. "My hotel check-in is at two," he says. The words are plain, but Tooru's taken aback, his mouth going flat and his eyes narrowing. Kenma figures he owes him honesty. "Can we go there now? I study crowds, I'm not good in them. I just... I'm not hungry. I want to talk to you." He shrugged. "I'm kind of a mess. Usually. But you know that."

He pulls up the map to the hotel on his phone; Tooru takes a glance at the screen and then leads the way, along the walkway, down the stairs, and away from the teeming stationfront shopping arcade. The road they end up on is straight and tree-lined, with office buildings but few shops. Despite the car traffic, it's easier to breathe here.

Tooru chats the whole way, like a tour guide, complete with bright fixed smile. Kenma recognizes this as a tactical retreat; he does the same thing, just not as well. They've already gone a couple of blocks before he remembers he should be worried about Tooru's knee, and he blurts out clumsy concern. He doesn't want Tooru hurting himself.

Tooru's reply comes with a bright laugh; he tells Kenma that he's _fine_ , and Kenma's silly for worrying. Kenma pegs that for another lie, and guesses that he's going to have to learn by observation how Tooru shows pain or discomfort. Probably walking down a street is okay. Probably jump serves aren't.

Kenma's phone chimes with a text, and he uses that as an excuse to tug Tooru to a stop so he can reply. The heft of the phone in his hand is comforting; the potential to take the edge off real life cool under his fingertips. It turns out he'd missed one from his mother, who wanted to know if he arrived safely; he snaps a picture of the direction they're walking and sends it to her. The sky is a nice soft blue, but the scenery could be any city in Japan. He imagines she'll delete it anyway. The message he attaches is heavy on emoticons, but he says they're talking about dating for real now and he's happy. He's making an effort, quote-unquote.

Kuro's text wonders where Kenma is, and he answers _walking_. Not even a minute later he gets a whining response about being needlessly cryptic (not at all: Kuro's fun to aggravate, so Kenma's cryptic entirely on purpose). He's answering with an even cagier note about not being around this weekend when Tooru leans over his shoulder – startling him into nearly dropping the phone – and says, "Am I a secret from your friend, Ken-chan?" The exaggerated false hurt in his voice doesn't quite cover his actual emotion.

"Kenma," he corrects, starting to feel like it's a lost cause. "Not really. He figured out I was in love with you before I did, and I know what he'd say if he knew I was here with you. He'd be obnoxious."

"Oh," Tooru says, eyes wide. He looks younger when he's stunned. Probably Kenma wasn't supposed to say it like that. "Can – come here." He nudges Kenma to the side, into a shadowy lane between two buildings, and leans in to kiss him on the cheek, then the corner of his mouth – and then Kenma turns his head so he can kiss back. Just a quick brush of lips, because they're still mostly in public, but Kenma _wants_ so strongly he nearly doesn't care about being seen. Tooru presses his mouth to Kenma's again, and his eyes fall shut. Kenma reaches up and brushes his fingertips along Tooru's cheek. He pets his hair as Tooru pulls back, and Tooru makes a small pleased noise.

"Hotel room," Kenma reminds him. His voice comes out low and rough, the way it gets after he's been up all night gaming. Tooru might turn into a similar addiction, he suspects. "Google said fifteen minutes."

"Give me your phone," Tooru says, and holds his hand out. Kenma's passing it over before he realizes what he's doing – he might be a little dazed – and suddenly Tooru's cheek is pressed right up against his. "Smile!"

Kenma never smiles for pictures, but Tooru doesn't seem disappointed at the result. He tilts the screen so Kenma can see. Kenma's almost immune to the charms of Tooru's selfies by now, or so he tells himself, but it's a shock to see their faces together. His mouth is slightly open and he looks like he was just kissed. He looks irritated that he's not still being kissed. It's probably the most embarrassing picture of him ever taken.

"Can I?" Tooru asks, scrolling up to the unsent reply to Kuro. His finger hovers over the _attach_ button.

Kuro will be impossible. He'll probably call, and Kenma doesn't really want to talk to him now. But sending the picture will make both Tooru and Kuro happy (and Kenma's secretly a bit awed at how sexy he looks, to be honest – his default expression is bored and boring; he's never seen himself look like that), so he nods. Tooru sends the message off gleefully, and Kenma reclaims his phone, making sure to save the picture in Tooru's folder.

"Wait," Tooru says, staring blatantly at the screen. "You kept all those pictures?"

Kenma starts walking, ears burning red. "No."

"I want pictures of you." The slight waver in Tooru's voice makes it sound as if Kenma's being cruel to deny him.

Kenma smirks, not giving in, and stops at the corner. He grabs Tooru's sleeve in lieu of explaining that they're crossing the street, glances both ways and waits for a delivery truck to pass, and then drags Tooru to the other side. Two steps from the curb his phone starts ringing. Kuro. Great.

Kenma answers with a sigh, holding the phone away from his ear in case there's yelling.

"You took my advice!" Kuro sounds gleeful. "Kenma! This almost makes up for all those years of you ignoring my wisdom!"

"That was wisdom?" Kenma eyes the convenience store he was aiming for, and Tooru. "I'm giving my phone to Oikawa. Talk to him while I go buy condoms."

He's fast enough – gamer's reflexes – that Tooru's holding the phone before Kenma's statement sinks in, and by then Kenma's already pushing the shop door open. He can hear Kuro squawking; he's glad he doesn't have to deal with that.

Tooru doesn't come in after him, which is good. Kenma's fine making his purchases (condoms, lube, energy drinks, CalorieMate, breath mints, cooling gel pads, and wet wipes); he uses his best blank face at the register, and the middle-aged clerk does the same right back at him. Having Tooru at his elbow would have upset the balance, and probably all of them would have ended up mortified.

Outside, Tooru's lingering on the sidewalk, fiddling with his own phone. He puts it away when Kenma walks up, and silently hands Kenma's back.

Kenma wonders what Kuro said, and if evading the call was a dick move. He's sure Tooru must know by now that Kenma can be a jerk sometimes (a lot), but he doesn't want to constantly worry about whether he's gone too far or done something unforgivable.

"I asked him to send me a copy of that picture," Tooru says, apropos of nothing. "So now we have each others' mail addresses. I was trying to remember that I think he's an asshole, except he warned me not to let you hurt yourself. And then he hung up." He gave a sigh in exaggerated exasperation. "He's not at all like Iwa-chan."

"He defies rational explanation," Kenma grumbles. "So don't try to understand him."

Tooru chides, "Ken-chan," which is utterly ignorable, but then he says, "Kenma," and there's enough steel and concern in the name that Kenma recalls too late that Tooru was captain of his powerhouse high school team. Like Kuro. He can be deadly serious when it counts.

"I told you about when he graduated," Kenma says, aiming his voice at the pavement beneath his feet. "We never talk about that. After he started university... it's Tokyo, and I had the internet. I wanted to see what sex was like, and there were plenty of okay enough guys who wanted to do it with a high school kid." He huffed out a breath. "He found out a couple of years later and told me to stop. I did. We don't talk about that, either."

Tooru hums. " _Did_ someone hurt you?" He says this lightly, but with emphasis.

This is the embarrassing part. "No." Kenma digs his phone out to check the map. They need to turn south at the next traffic light. "I scared him, because he thought I _should_ have felt something besides _huh, sex is fun_ and _cool, now I can buy that new game_. I mean... he thinks that damaged my psyche. Or whatever."

"So he feels responsible – "

"Which he isn't – "

"You weren't trying to punish him? Or yourself?"

Kenma scoffs. "I had a good time. He doesn't understand – he's projecting." Honestly, Kenma's not sure what Kuro thinks about sex or romance or any of that; sometimes his older-and-wiser act seems too much like tactical defense. Kenma raises his chin and glances sideways. "What do you think?"

Tooru hums under his breath for a moment, and then reaches over to clasp Kenma's hand, weaving their fingers together. "Everyone's done things." He winks. "I did Iwa-chan, for example, which was probably not the _best_ way to get rid of virginity, either. Eh. It happens. You're not seeing anyone now?" His tone rises, making it an offhand question, and Kenma shakes his head. His regular job pays a lot better, and honestly is more satisfying than mediocre sex. "Life doesn't have a rewind button. If it did, I probably would have gone back to make sure I didn't ignore medical advice for so long, and then I never would have thrown myself at you the wedding and we wouldn't be here." He waves their linked hands grandly, as if presenting Kenma with the keys to his personal kingdom. "I like being with you, here and now. Despite your over-invested sempai."

Kenma nearly protests the last part, because it's unfair to his friendship with Kuro, but then realizes that's why Kuro pisses him off when he gets like this.

"We turn here," Kenma says instead, and tugs Tooru around the corner. Right in front of them they can see the business hotel's shabby facade, and Tooru gives his hand a reflexive squeeze before letting go gently and shoving his hand in his pocket.

He continues to hang back as Kenma checks in, feigning interest in the lobby décor – one beige floral sofa, two stained beige chairs, a TV on the wall playing a talk show silently, and a rack of newspapers. Kenma gets the WiFi password (and a LAN cable, just in case), and heads toward the elevators, Tooru falling into step after him.

The room's on the 7th floor. Tooru turns out to be the sort of person who immediately goes to the window to point out where his former high school could be seen (if not for the bank building in the way), his shoes kicked off carelessly by the door and his coat tossed over the back of the chair.

"Where's Karasuno?" Kenma asks, sliding his backpack off and setting it on the desk.

Tooru turns wide eyes on him, as if about to launch into an impassioned speech about decade-old volleyball rivalries. Kenma puts a hand on his shoulder and goes up on his toes to preempt babble with a kiss.

He keeps it very light, and then pulls back. "This is okay?" Tooru talks a lot, but his omissions are glaring – how he feels, how much experience he has, what he wants.

Tooru looks at him – goes still and gazes down at him – and Kenma realizes that he's lowered his walls. He suspects his own life would be easier if he had Tooru's knack for holding the world at bay with the force of his personality – he's sure everyone falls for the charm – but he imagines it's exhausting. Games are a much easier shield, though bad for his reputation. This Tooru is the one who sends late-night texts anxious about papers he needs to write and agonizing over whether he'll be able to get the necessary data and grants, who's earnestly proud of his middle-blocker nephew, who leaned on Kenma when he couldn't walk. He's not the Grand King Hinata and Kageyama tell stories about; he's just a guy who works too hard and is afraid of being hurt and losing another thing he loves.

"I'm really glad you came," Tooru says, and reaches out to slide his fingers into Kenma's hair. "And that _you_ don't want to break up with _me_." Kenma narrows his eyes, trying to think of one reason he would. "You know how sometimes I text to say _I'm home_ and you reply _welcome back_ , or you write _good night_ instead of goodbye. Lately I want to come home to you so much that my apartment feels empty when I unlock the door."

Kenma doesn't know how to answer that without being an asshole and suggesting getting a pet, which he recognizes as defensiveness and not what he wants to say, anyway. He wants... huh.

He pushes Tooru back until he bumps into the bed, and keeps pushing, so Tooru ends up sprawling over the bedspread with Kenma tumbling after him. They end up in a weird embrace, Kenma tucking his head under Tooru's chin and clinging to him like an octopus. Kenma isn't a romantic person at all but this is what he imagines when he thinks about intimacy: strong arms coming up around him, the rise and fall of a warm chest under him, laughter in his hair. There's nothing to be nervous of, and he lets himself relax.

Tooru scooches them up the bed, probably so his feet aren't dangling off the edge of the mattress. Kenma uses the opportunity to make himself more comfortable.

"Welcome home," he says into Tooru's shirt, which smells like it was dried in the sun.

Tooru huffs a laugh, and resumes playing with Kenma's hair. "I feel like I just adopted a cat."

"We never touch," Kenma points out. "If I can, I'm taking the opportunity."

The deep breath Tooru draws makes Kenma feel like he's bobbing at sea (or so he imagines – he's never swum in the ocean, and he never wants to). "Take all the opportunities," Tooru says, voice a low rumble against Kenma's ear. "We already missed six months."

Kenma could answer that, but instead he rolls onto his back and pulls until Tooru slides over him. He keeps a frustrating gap between them, as if he thinks he might crush Kenma flat. Kenma nips at his lip and arches up, sliding his hands down Tooru's back to his ass to tug him down.

He feels a shudder go through Tooru and kisses him harder. He doesn't care when it gets wet and messy; he likes that Tooru's bigger and stronger than he is and that he's going to make Tooru desperate anyway. He licks sideways, sliding his mouth up along Tooru's jawline, faintly stubble-rough and tasting clean, like soap. When he reaches his ear he says as quietly as he can, "You don't need to put up a front for me. I just want you to be you." He closes his teeth around the earlobe and sucks; under his hands, Tooru's hips jerk, and Kenma can feel his dick despite all the layers of fabric between them.

"Terrifying thought," Tooru says lightly. He lowers his head, nibbling a line down Kenma's neck to his shoulder. "Your shirt's in the way."

"So are your pants," Kenma points out. Just in case Tooru doesn't get the hint, he adds, "Take them off," and pushes Tooru away.

Kenma gets up to strip and grabs his bag from the convenience store. The condoms and lube came in plastic wrap and boxes, so it's a hassle getting to the actual contents, but he's back on the bed, naked and ready, while Tooru's still removing and folding his clothes. Sweater, shirt, undershirt (and Kenma's suspicion that Tooru works out is confirmed by the definition in his arms and chest), pants, _socks_ (who folds socks?), boxer briefs in a startling baby-blue pattern – Kenma's eyes slide up gorgeous legs, the scars barely visible now, and over strong thighs. Tooru catches him staring at his dick while thinking about it in his mouth, and his cheeks flush instantly, as if he'd been slapped.

Kenma's lips _are_ dry, but the reason he flicks his tongue out to wet them is entirely to torment Tooru. Kenma's hyperaware that most of his awkwardness is because he's naturally unclear on where social boundaries are; growing up he constantly made mortifying mistakes – asking too-intimate questions, flinching away from casual touches, bleaching his hair in school – that threw him in the spotlight of unwanted attention. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that being his particular kind of shameless during sex is somehow appreciated.

"What do you want to do?" Kenma asks, reaching out. He feels more confident when Tooru takes his hand and lets himself be pulled down to the bed. "What don't you like?" Tooru's eyes narrow, just a bit; it's easy to be distracted by Tooru's charm and forget how well Tooru reads people. Kenma gives him his best exasperated look. These are normal questions. And when Kenma needs to know what he _can_ or _can't_ do, he's not going to tiptoe around Tooru's delicate feelings.

"I like everything," Tooru says, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Okay." Kenma nods. Something about Tooru's personality makes Kenma want to make him lose his self-control. He's a challenge, and Kenma likes challenges.

He maps Tooru with light kisses, from his long throat to his fingertips to his knees, while Tooru arches and shudders and tells him not to tease.

As if Kenma would do anything _but_ tease. He figures Tooru will get used to it.

He sucks lazily at the head of Tooru's dick while fingering him open, explaining what he plans to do (fuck Tooru until Kenma comes, and then let Tooru fuck him _if_ he can be good and not come from being fucked). Tooru glares and protests as if he's being cruelly treated, despite the way he writhes and the short sharp gasps he makes when Kenma twists his fingers just right. He's so responsive Kenma wants to tongue-fuck him until he cries, or maybe spank him; not today, but someday.

He makes the mistake of forgetting that Tooru's also a strategic thinker. When Kenma pulls his fingers out, Tooru flips them, bracing one hand on Kenma's shoulder as he rocks his hips down until Kenma's fully inside. They're both sweaty, and it should be gross – probably it is – but Kenma wants to feel as much of Tooru's skin against his own as possible. He can't stop touching. His hands grab and cling, and he digs his heels in, hips rising to match the rhythm Tooru sets with sharp thrusts. Tooru's head drops, his chest heaving, and Kenma knows they're both holding back from touching his dick.

Tooru's so hard Kenma's stomach grows slick from where he's leaking. The sight makes Kenma shudder; he keeps shaking, his body so overwhelmed that he can't think clearly. He wants Tooru in him, and he tells him that. He tells Tooru everything, words punctuated by gasps until he doesn't have any words left. He comes trying to say Tooru's name, staring up at his face, clinging to him as if he needs an anchor to hold him down.

Kenma's still shuddering from orgasm when Tooru slides off to the side. The condom's stripped off and tossed in the emptied convenience store bag, and then Tooru's working Kenma open, his face tense in concentration. He's not rough, but it's fast enough that Kenma's eyes roll back.

"Tell me when you're ready," Tooru says. His skin gleams with sweat; his hair's a tangle. Kenma probably looks just as messy, but on Tooru it's beautiful.

"Now," he tells Tooru.

He's not, really, and Tooru must know that, but he pulls his fingers out anyway. Kenma shifts so his head's on his folded arms, ass raised as Tooru lines himself up, hand holding the head of his cock in place as he leans in. He enters Kenma in one long unrelenting push. He's too big and it's too much – Kenma is so overwhelmed he can't tell it hurts or feels good. He gasps for breath, digging his nails into his elbows, his toes curling, and then raises his hips so Tooru slips – impossibly – deeper in.

Kenma breathes hard, great gulps of air, as Tooru covers him, dropping kisses along the back of his shoulders until Kenma turns his head and catches his mouth with his own. The kiss is messy and frantic; for a moment it's like there's a net between them, and a rivalry, and he can either run or – 

He pulls back and smiles (he's been told it's unnerving), saying, "If you're hitting it, hit it until it breaks."

Tooru chokes on a laugh and then slowly lets his mouth curl at the corners, less a smirk than an implicit threat behind his sugary words: "I'm going to figure out how to take you apart, you know."

Kenma does know. He's not planning on putting up any kind of fight. "And I'll return the favor."

His words are met with a flash of amusement but that's immediately swallowed by fierce concentration as Tooru flexes his hips, shallow thrusts that build slowly, like Tooru can't hold himself back. Kenma doesn't want him to; he knows Tooru's been waiting. He can feel the strain of Tooru's muscles – arms, shoulders, stomach – and the way he's panting heavily. It's devastatingly sexy to be so surrounded by him. Kenma's too overstimulated to get hard again, but as Tooru fucks him he feels hot, like he's glowing from the inside out. It's a weird and unfamiliar sensation, and he tries to ignore it by concentrating on making Tooru come quickly. He arches up, pressing his back to Tooru's stomach, chasing and returning each thrust, until Tooru cries out, shuddering. Kenma clenches down instinctively around his dick, feeling it throb inside him.

He feels smug, and fond, and happy, even as Tooru gradually sags and crushes him down to the mattress. Kenma should worry about breathing – it's kind of an issue – but instead he twists until he can kiss the sweat from Tooru's neck and shoulder. It's irritating that Kenma's sexual awakening overlapped so much with volleyball that he developed an attraction to a certain athletic type, and doubly so that Tooru's more-or-less _perfect_.

He uses the slight burst of energy he gets from being annoyed by Tooru's perfection to slide free, and then he takes inventory of how gross he is and not showering ceases to be an option.

He tells Tooru he'll be back in a few minutes, which makes him sulk. No hotel bathroom's big enough for two people to fit in the shower, though, so Tooru will just have to deal.

Half an hour later they're both clean and mostly dressed. Kenma's hair has been blown dry, and Tooru's is still slightly damp, because he says he'd rather catch a cold than have it get frizzy.

"You're ridiculous," Kenma tells him; it's starting to feel like a mantra, and he's disturbed by how much the words feel like he's laying bare how much he _likes_ Tooru.

Tooru is sitting on the clean bed, cooling his knee down with the gel pads – Kenma's not at all surprised that he pushed himself too far – and he pats the space next to him, making it clear that he expects Kenma to obey. Kenma feels kneejerk resentment, because it feels like being treated as a _kohai_ , but he knows that's unfair. He's just nervous, the worry twisting tight inside him, and that makes him petty. He knows he's not a nice person.

He sits, his fingers tangling together uselessly in the absence of his phone or any other handheld distraction. Tooru slides an arm around his shoulders and leans his head against Kenma's, damply.

"I know you've been testing me," Tooru murmurs. "I hope I passed? I should warn you that I'm a competitive person."

Kenma opens his mouth to say that wasn't what he'd been doing, but then again, it kind of was. "If it turns out you don't like me after all or don't want to do this, I want to know now."

Tooru makes a humming noise, which Kenma has come to understand means he's listening but doesn't quite agree. "Most people break up after they've been together for a while, Ken-chan. No one's invented a failproof method of prediction yet." Kenma shrugs under his arm; he knows he's being stupid. Showing Tooru that he can be – and often is – stupid like this is kind of the _point_. "Well," Tooru chirps brightly. "I like your Kuro-chan a bit better now." He pulls back just enough to look into Kenma's eyes, the fall of his bangs in the way. "Please don't ever tell him I suggested pretending we were dating. Or that you said yes – _why_ did you say yes?" The faux casual pose and tone are, Kenma understands, a set-up. Or at least a mask, hiding real concern.

"It was useful," Kenma says with a shrug. He's enjoyed the peace of the past months.

Tooru rolls his eyes. "It makes me feel like a creep in retrospect. If I'd asked you out for real – "

"We'd be having this conversation back in May, before we even knew each other." Kenma's being played, he recognizes that, but he's still annoyed out of his worries enough that he thinks up bullet points and raises a finger for each one. "Can long distance work? What happens if you're offered a job – or tenure – even further away? Should I quit my job? What about our families? Is the sex good? Good enough? Do we even like each other enough to try?" He frowns. "I didn't like you back then."

"I'm not an architect, you don't need to be mean to me," Tooru says with a pout, and catches Kenma's hand in his own, threading their fingers together. "You know my parents are – inflexible. I don't talk about who I date, they pretend I have a wife and grandkids in the future. My brother and sister want to meet you, though." He gave Kenma's hand a squeeze, as if he knew the idea was nerve-wracking. "We made Canada work, and that was hardcore long-distance. I need to collect more data on the sex. Test some variables." Kenma snorts, and Tooru leans into him like he's cold and trying to warm up. "We like each other now."

Kenma rubs small circles on the back of Tooru's hand with his thumb. Tooru has long fingers, and it's easy to imagine him setting a ball, his brain processing probabilities and calculating player strengths and weaknesses and his hands translating that into devastatingly precise action. "Train tickets are cheaper if I buy a whole book of them. I can come weekends, if I don't have to be somewhere else."

"That sounds good."

"You can visit Tokyo, too. My mom wants to meet you for real. She likes your pictures."

"You were supposed to delete the ugly ones," Tooru protests. There's laughter in his eyes, even though his tone is tragic. "I'm going to prune your collection."

"It's funny that you don't think I back my phone up to my computer," Kenma tells him. He doesn't actually – it's too much effort – but he knows he should, and now he has incentive. "Hurry up and get dressed. I'm hungry."

Tooru twists to the side, and clasps both his hands around Kenma's. It's far too cheesy to be sincere, despite his intensity. "You want to go out to dinner?" he asks, like a trap being baited.

Kenma knows he's walking into something, but he still says, "Yes." His stomach is pinching.

Tooru lets him go and grabs his phone from the headboard shelf. He types a new message – _He said yes!!!_ – and adds a string of exuberant symbols and faces. His finger hovers over the send button, eyes meeting Kenma's in question. Kenma shrugs, and then reaches over to push Tooru's thumb down.

"Oops," Tooru says. "Did I send that to the whole group and not just Iwa-chan? Oh dear. You might want to turn your phone off during dinner."

"Why?" Kenma asks, standing and offering him a hand up. He supposes that if Tooru limps more than usual, it's partially his fault so he should try to be nice. "Trolling my friends worked out pretty well for me before."

"You are a terrible person," Tooru tells him, nudging Kenma's chin up for a toe-curling kiss. Kenma grabs at Tooru's arms and lets himself be happy and loved and all those other cliché romantic feelings. He tries to show that by kissing back. The way Tooru melts against him is totally worth the crick in his neck.

The kiss is broken by their phones: first Kenma's vibrating on the desk, then Tooru's – tossed carelessly on the bed – giving off a muffled Godzilla roar that makes Kenma pull back just to stare at Tooru in disbelief.

"Fan mail," Tooru says airily, and shoves his phone into his pocket. "I'll read it over dinner."

"I'll show you Kuro's if you show me Iwaizumi's." Kenma's guessing, but he can tell by the way Tooru's eyebrows lift that he's not wrong.

Tooru considers the offer carefully while pulling on his coat and straightening the collar. "Iwa-chan knows the truth. I babbled all my anxieties at him last night. He told me to be brave." He gives Kenma a rueful glance. "I probably shouldn't be lying to him again so soon, huh."

"You've been friends this long, he's probably used to you by now," Kenma points out. He tries to imagine being so close to Tooru; the idea feels comfortable, almost easy. He _wants_ that kind of relationship in his future with a startling greed. Love is weird, he decides.

"You look like you're scheming," Tooru says, eyeing Kenma suspiciously.

Kenma smiles – he suspects it's his boss battle anticipation smile – and pulls the door open. He follows Tooru out into the corridor and reaches out to hold his hand. Tooru squeezes his fingers lightly, and Kenma feels giddy and light, like he could do anything.

"I'm going to take care of you," he tells Tooru, glaring at the elevator buttons. "I'm going to make you happy."

"You already do," Tooru says. He raises Kenma's hand and presses a kiss to the back, like a promise.


	5. Epilogue: The Next Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In shapshots...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Much appreciation to the FFA writing community, who encouraged me through writer's block.

(1)

"So... I think I got the contract, Ken-chan." Tooru's in Tokyo for his second interview, and even though the position's only for three years, they're both excited by the possibility.

Kenma snorts. "Either you did or you didn't."

"I still need university approval, but – " Tooru raises his voice to talk over Kenma's grumble – "they offered help house-hunting."

"Why?" Kenma asks. "You've got me."

The 2DK they move into is on the third floor, and overlooks a small playground and the back of a hinge factory. Kenma can cycle to the train station, and Tooru's a fifteen minute walk from his bus stop. They buy furniture and major appliances together, which Tooru had pronounced was a major relationship milestone in the middle of Joshin Denki.

(Kenma's stomach had knotted, because he didn't know if the saleswoman was prejudiced, but she knocked 20,000 yen off the price and gave them two boxes of tissue.)

(2)

Kenma still has to work on site with clients, and Tooru has stupidly late hours and research trips to Hawaii and Chile. But it's nice to sleep together and spend days off doing couple things – shopping and laundry and inviting friends over for wine (Tooru) and Smash Brothers (Kenma). Their sofa folds out into a bed, and they've hosted Shouyou and Kageyama, the Iwaizumis, and a succession of Tooru's relatives. His sister, brother, nephew, and – nervewrackingly – his mother (Kenma stressed so much Tooru had enlisted Mrs Kozume for help).

(4)

Shouyou and Kageyama rent a municipal gym for their fifth wedding anniversary and have a sprawling volleyball tournament with barbecue and fireworks. There are tons of kids of all ages running around, and former high school rivals play on the same teams and get drunk together. They talk about jobs and mortgages and getting old. It's... bizarre, Kenma thinks, but fun.

Tooru delivers a beautiful jump serve in the late afternoon, even though he lands awkwardly to spare his knee. He glows, and even a lecture from Ushijima doesn't damp his self-satisfaction.

"It's our anniversary, too," Tooru tells Shouyou later, arm draped across Kenma's shoulders less out of romance and more to take the weight off his knee.

Shouyou cackles, and asks when they're going to tie the knot finally; but he lets Tooru get away with kissing Kenma to evade answering.

(6)

When Tooru's contract is up, they relocate to a 2LDK in Sendai. Kenma's boss makes concessions, allowing him to telecommute as long as he spends two days a week in the Tokyo office. The travel is exhausting, and when Tooru's away Kenma just moves back in with his parents; he doesn't see the point in all that hassle just to return to an empty apartment.

He has a major project that requires nearly a month in Matsuyama. He's just getting over the flu when he's scheduled to go, and Tooru tells him to refuse. They don't fight, exactly, but Kenma's angry when he leaves and Tooru doesn't apologize for the things he said. Kenma lets himself get lost in his work more than he has in years; it lets him forget how exhausted and homesick and frustrated he is. He doesn't notice illness creeping up on him again until he ends up coughing so hard he passes out and gets hospitalized with pneumonia.

He wakes up from fever dreams once to find Tooru holding his hand. Tooru blurts out that he nearly died and then apologizes in his next breath. He looks weary and scared, but Kenma's asleep again before he can reply.

The next time he's awake his mother is there. Kenma's apparently made trouble for _everyone_. She says Tooru will be back next weekend; feeding Kenma his bland lunch, she mentions that the hospital refused to accept Tooru as family.

"That's stupid," Kenma says, and falls into annoyed sleep.

(7)

Tooru treats Kenma like a bomb waiting to go off the whole time he's recovering; tiptoeing around their apartment, reining in his natural exuberance, stealing every chance he gets to feel Kenma's skin for fever, doling out medicine with meticulous precision and timing. Kenma only manages not to go crazy because he's scheming.

He waits until a month after he finally gets a clear chest x-ray. Kuro told him he should hold off on buying a ring until he knows Tooru will wear one, but both his mother and Iwaizumi insist Tooru will appreciate a proposal with all the cliches. Kenma finds a jeweler who makes rings from meteorites, and measures Tooru's finger while he's asleep, just like in the movies.

He takes Tooru out to dinner at their usual restaurant, and Tooru's suspicious even though Kenma didn't dress up (he's wearing another comfortable fleece from his mother; his drawers are full of them now). Tooru fidgets with everything on the table – the soy sauce, the chopstick rests, his tea cup – and it's so obvious he expects bad news that Kenma decides not to wait. As soon as their order's placed and the waiter takes the menus away, Kenma forces out the words he'd practiced, telling Tooru how much he means to him and that he wants to be together forever.

"So," he says, and reaches across the table to press the ring box into a hand that's gone still. "Will you? Marry me?"

Tooru is silent for long enough that Kenma has to (finally) look him in the face. He looks stunned, and he blinks teary eyes at Kenma's scrutiny.

"You don't have to say yes," he adds, to be clear. Half of their friends are married, but Tooru's never seemed envious; it might not be something he wants. Kenma knows there's that risk.

"Of course I'm saying yes," Tooru snaps, pulling the ring box closer protectively. "Oh, my god. Oh, god. I love you."

Kenma tells himself there's no point in getting embarrassed now, when he's already caused a scene, so he stands, goes to kiss Tooru, says he loves him, too, and slinks back to his seat blushing so hard his ears burn.

Tooru rubs his eyes with the cuff of his shirt, and then slides his ring on. Kenma feels a surge of possessive satisfaction, which is bizarre – they've been together, more or less, for years, and jewelry doesn't change that or somehow legitimize their relationship the way paperwork will, but... Tooru's shock is fading into a brilliant happiness, and Kenma wants to have that happiness directed at him for decades to come. It's the best kind of exhausting.


End file.
